“Yes.—Anyway,” she emended, “they were walking up and down near the arbor.”
“Is it custom’ry for them to stroll in the yard before breakfast?”
“Mrs. Drukker often comes out early and walks about the flower beds. And I guess the professor has a right to walk in his own yard any time he wants to.”
“I’m not questioning his rights in the matter, Beedle,” said Vance mildly. “I was merely wondering if he was in the habit of exercising those rights at such an early hour.”
“Well, he was exercising ’em this morning.”
Vance dismissed the woman and, rising, went to the front window. He was patently puzzled, and he stood several minutes looking down the street toward the river.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “It’s a nice day for communin’ with nature. At eight this morning the lark was on the wing no doubt, and—who knows?—maybe there was a snail on the thorn. But—my word!—all wasn’t right with the world.”
Markham recognized the signs of Vance’s perplexity.
“What do you make of it?” he asked. “I’m inclined to ignore Beedle’s information.”
“The trouble is, Markham, we can’t afford to ignore anything in this case.” Vance spoke softly, without turning. “I’ll admit, though, that at present Beedle’s revelation is meaningless. We’ve merely learned that two of the actors in our melodrama were up and about this morning shortly after Sprigg was snuffed out. The al-fresco rendezvous between the professor and Mrs. Drukker may, of course, be just one of your beloved coincidences. On the other hand, it may have some bearing on the old gentleman’s sentimental attitude toward the lady. . . . I think we’ll have to make a few discreet inquiries of him about his ante-prandial tryst, what? . . .”